


The Red Bomber Jacket

by clarkeship



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, Romance, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkeship/pseuds/clarkeship
Summary: Richie and Stan get caught up in a rain storm, and decide to take shelter in the Tozier’s backyard shed. During this time, they quietly reflect on one another, and make a large decision that would’ve never been crossed, if it were outside.





	The Red Bomber Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> i posted this also on my tumblr! follow me @clarkeship

Rain slammed against the tin roof of the small shed that Richie and Stan stood under to stay dry. Richie was cursing, wiping the water droplets off his bike with a rag, while Stan stood near the window, staring at the darkening sky.

“Do you think we should be in here?” Stan murmured, watching the window fog due to his breath. “If there’s lightening, and the metal from the shed-“

“You’re an idiot, Uris,” Richie spat, kneeling and finally drying the rest of his bike. “It’s not a thunderstorm, just heavy rain. Who made you a weatherman?”

Stan ignored Richie’s comment, not feeling offended in the slightest. He could tell that Richie was agitated with the weather. Just the other day Richie repainted his bike with a beautiful sky blue and managed to make the thing look good as new. The weather was like a curse, and if the bike came out with rust on it’s newly colored exterior, Richie would have a field day.

The old Tozier shed held memories upon memories, and Stan couldn’t help but slightly smile at all the rare artifacts from their early childhood gathering dust in the corner. The old soldiers they would line across the sidewalks as kids, even the dead walkie-talkies stood in a row along the wooden table. Stan leaned over and allowed his fingers to graze across the carvings and corners. Truly, their childhood was not dead.

Stan shivered, and stepped back, goose flesh began to rise along his arms.

“You cold?” Richie muttered behind him, causing Stan to turn around.

As the two had gotten older, Stan managed to only reach a certain height, yet Richie soared, and could stare down at you with his dark stare. Stan only managed to grow weary from that stare. He grew weary of Richie.

Not all faults were Richie’s, of course, the problems stemmed to him. They stopped hanging out as much, Richie grew closer to girls, and left Stan alone- sometimes even ditching him for another girl of the week. It hurt his feelings, Stan’s. Yet, Stan couldn’t outright open his mouth and scream it. What kind of boy screams, “Quit hurting me! Just- just give me attention like you used to!”

No, he could never tell him that because revealing that would be revealing something else entirely.

And Stan wasn’t ready to go near that just yet.

“W-well,” Stan stammered, while Richie wrapped his jacket around him. A flush rose to his cheeks when he realized the clothing item had been drenched in Richie’s smell. Soft, ember like smell with a hint of evergreen.

Stan knew the smell well.

“Why are you so quiet suddenly?” Richie mumbled, sitting in a lawn chair while pulling out a smoke.

They would graduate this year- and Stan had that small voice in his head saying,  _what if I never see you again?_ It was a possibility, and one that Stan wasn’t sure he could handle.

“Just thinking, you know how the rain gets to me,” Stan spoke slowly, reluctantly sitting on the cold ground of concrete. He fumbled with his shoelaces quietly, waiting for Richie to respond.

Richie unfortunately said nothing, and casually blew out cigarette smoke. The dark shed was only illuminated by the red bud that gave Richie his nicotine. Stan’s mouth grew dry at the thought of how godly Richie had appeared. Richie sat in the lawn chair with his leg crossed over the other, and his one hand allowing his chin to rest against his palm. With such a lazy sprawl, Stan couldn’t see why he was so fascinated.

But he was, nonetheless.

The silence of the shed besides the rain grew on Stan, and eventually he just laid there, waiting until the rain went silent. Leaving the noises of Richie’s breath to fill the air. Stan, still soaking wet, sat up again to see Richie leaning back with his eyes closed.

“Richie?” Stan called out quietly, noticing that the sun was going down, and the street lamps were now illuminating the streets.

“Hmm?” Richie responded, his eyes still shut.

“Are you scared… Are you scared of going away?” he stammered, grabbing onto Richie’s jacket and biting his lip. He was afraid- so afraid.

If Richie left, then Stan would be too terrified to stay. He couldn’t handle not having his friend anymore, and long distance was hardly something anyone wanted to deal with…

“I’m scared of growing up,” he admitted, “But I would love to have some fresh scenery.” Silence. “What about you?”

“I can’t wait to leave!” Stan squeaked, clutching at the jacket before covering his face with embarrassment. He could feel his face flush to a warm pink. What a fool he had been!

Richie opened his eyes and gazed down at Stan with a confused gaze. “Y-you can’t?”

Silence returned, and Stan uncovered his face. With the shed door slightly opened from the wind, little light from a lamp a few yards away drifted inside, illuminating the two boys. He felt his lips quiver and he took a quick breath. “Of course, I can’t! This place is a drag, Richie. I’m surprised we haven’t left sooner, if I’m going to be honest. I’m sure you’d think the same.”

Richie furrowed his brow and nodded once. “Oh- uh, yeah, sure.”

“So really, I wish graduation would come sooner.”

Richie was taken back at first and couldn’t help but set down his pack of cigarettes and stare. “Stan.”

Stan continued to ramble on until Richie shouted. “Stan!”

Stan paused while Richie rose from the chair and crossed him arms. Kneeling, Richie tilted his head and asked, “You’re not being serious, are you, Stan?”

Stan gazed up at his friend, and bit down hard on his lip to keep himself from replying. He could feel his eyes tear up due to the sudden punch of emotions. Stan could only shake his head in reply, afraid to look at Richie again.

“I’m afraid to leave too, Stan,” he murmured, grasping onto Stan’s shoulder. “You have no idea.”

Stan couldn’t tell what had gotten into him in that moment. Whether it was the darkness forming outside, or the sad look on Richie’s face, but Stan couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t keep lying to Richie or himself. He had to be honest.

Reaching out with both hands, Stan grabbed Richie’s face quickly and pulled the boy to him, allowing their lips to meet. At first, Richie froze in utter shock, his eyes wide open as he stared at Stan’s reaction. Yet, even with the shock, Richie could not fight it anymore, and gently closed his eyes, pulling Stan closer to him. Richie grasped at his back, his nails scratching gently against the clothing.

“Take it off,” Stan gasped against Richie’s lips. “Please- please take it off.”

Richie nodded wildly, and grabbed the hem of Stan’s shirt, along with the jacket and tossed it on the floor. With one hand, he pushed Stan against the ground and took off his own shirt, his ivory skin, glowing from the light behind them. Stan reached out and placed his hand right about Richie’s heart.

“What… What do you want me to do?” Richie asked breathlessly as he knelt above Stan. He could feel himself push against the fabric of his jeans, but he ignored every core of his being until Stan whispered, “Kiss me.”

Suddenly, like an animal, Richie was above Stan, gripping the boy’s hips with one hand tightly as he balanced himself with the other. Their lips crashed against one another, and a moan escaped the lips of Stan, who was now allowing entrance of Mike’s tongue. They kissed like this for hours, their hands roaming the soft, boyish skins of one another. They drew new beginnings on one another, and eventually, they knew every inch of each other by the end of that spring night.

When the sun began to rise, and the two were kissing one another against the metal wall, Stan smiled against Richie’s lips.

“Why are you smiling?” Richie chuckled, finally pulling away and slipping his white t-shirt back on.

Stan, who was now pulling on his shirt and Richie’s red bomber jacket, sighed and leaned back against the door post, the taste of Richie like a memory on his tongue. “I never thought we would- be like this.”

Richie smirked and pulled out a cigarette from his jean pocket. “Like what? Gay, Uris?”

Stan ignore his comment and closed his eyes whispering, “This is why I didn’t want to leave.”

Richie frowned at him and walked over, staring down at Stan, with almost an insane expression.

“Don’t say that, Stan,” he said quickly.

Stan, opening his eyes, gaped at Richie. “Why am I not allowed to say that? With everything we just did-“

“Don’t talk about it, Uris,” Richie snarled, causing panic to rise in Stan. “We are never going to speak about it outside of this shed.”

“What are you talking about?” Stan whispered softly, his heart hammering against his chest, and his hands grew clammy. “What about last night- all the things we shared-“

“They don’t matter,” Richie said flatly, pulling away. “Because after this summer is over, I’m moving away for college and so are you.”

“Richie, I-“

“No, Stan! I don’t want you to waste your life and potential on me! Don’t you get it?” Richie cried out, tossing his box of cigarettes to the ground. His face appeared red then, though Stan couldn’t be too sure whether it was from tears or frustration. “You have a gift, and you have the ability to get out of this horrible fucking place! We both have this chance- and we aren’t wasting it on some dumb, stupid night we won’t remember in a few months.”

Those words hit Stan right through the core, causing him to physically wince. He opened his mouth to say something, but Richie simply shook his head.

“I think we should stay away from each other from now on. It’s better that way,” he murmured softly.

“Richie, no-“

“I think you should leave now,” Richie whispered, turning away and staring at the pile of old toys. Their memories that were quickly fading away.

Stan sobbed, his arms tightened around Richie’s jacket as he said one last thing.

“I loved you.”

Richie’s shoulders tensed, but he said nothing, and it was enough for Stan to rush out of the Tozier’s shed and down the sidewalk with his head down.

And Richie just stood there, inside, his shoulder’s slumping and his head hanging low with defeat.

He turned around and saw the red bomber jacket hanging gently on the doorknob. Only then, could Richie cry and scream out in anger.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
